


A Warning Unheeded

by imtoolazytothinkofausername



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21774442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imtoolazytothinkofausername/pseuds/imtoolazytothinkofausername
Summary: Professor James Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes band together to face London's newest threat.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I do not own Sherlock Holmes, and I am not writing this for profit.

The loud music faded as Sherlock Holmes stepped out of the club and into the alleyway. Reaching inside his pocket, he fumbled with a box of cigarettes and withdrew one. He found his lighter, lit the cigarette, and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes as he inhaled. Generally, Holmes preferred shag, but a pipe was cumbersome and difficult to carry around discreetly these days. 

“I wouldn’t have thought to find _you_ here.” He spoke into the darkness and opened his eyes to watch a shadow detach itself from the night. 

“I wouldn’t _be_ here if it weren't for you.” The other man replied with a hint of exasperation. “Rap, Holmes? I knew you were becoming...uncultured...but I didn’t realize you’d lost all sense of good taste.” 

“I believe it’s called adapting,” The Detective remarked, dryly, “and I see you haven’t remained entirely immune to modern culture.” He gestured at the other’s jeans. “I’m impressed, Professor. I don’t believe I’ve seen you in anything other than a suit before.” 

Moriarty winced. “Yes, well, it’s rather hard to blend in in certain environments when one wears respectable attire.” 

“So you bought a pair of jeans just to see me? I’m flattered.” Holmes held out his box of Pall Malls, but Moriarty waved them away. “Well, you obviously went through a lot of trouble to find me. You were in Egypt just last week, or at least your lap dog was.” He made a show of glancing around the alley. “Did you bring him? I’ve been meaning to-” 

“Moran has gone ahead to London.” Moriarty interrupted. “He’ll meet us at the airport on Tuesday.” 

“Us?” Holmes echoed. 

“You haven’t been following the news lately, have you?” 

“I confess, I’ve been more worried about the sudden increase in lycanthropes in Manhattan than this season’s cricket scores.” 

“What the werewolves do is their own business.” 

“Except when they begin infecting one out of every hundred or so humans who pass through one of their dens.” Holmes indicated the club behind them. “Then, I think an intervention is required.” 

“Perhaps.” Moriarty took out his phone and began typing. “But I think you’ll agree that the possibility of London being turned into a farm outweighs any overpopulation issues New York is experiencing.” 

Holmes’ phone dinged, and he took it out and opened the text to see seven bodies. Although the people were different, their pale skin and the fact that they were clearly dead linked them. What was disturbing was that while each had wounds on their throats, the types of wounds varied greatly Some were discreet puncture marks. Some open holes where the flesh had been bitten away. Still others were large gashes, too wide to be made by any blade 

“Those are just the most recent.” Moriarty told him. “From what I can gather, there’s been at least 50 in the past month.” 

Holmes inhaled sharply. “Now, that, I would have noticed.” 

Moriarty shrugged. “Only a handful have been found by the police. The others I’ve given orders to destroy.” 

The Detective nodded. It was only a matter of time before the humans began to realize something odd was going on. But he’d been in the middle of too many riots to think that spreading word that there were vampires hunting in the middle of London was a good idea. “When do we leave?” 

“Five hours.” 

“What airport? I’ll just need to-” 

“Don’t bother. I’ve taken the liberty of contacting the good doctor; we’ll need all the soldiers we can get. I assume he’ll have any luggage you need sent on to London. My driver’s parked around the corner.” 

There was no reply from the Detective; none was needed. As much as the two men clashed over the years, they were united on this matter: London was their home and they would protect their territory. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't own Sherlock Holmes, and I'm still not writing this for money.

Sherlock Holmes seldom doubted the accuracy of his own senses, but the sight that met Holmes’ eyes defied logic. His brain ran through the possible explanations, each more unlikely than the next. He almost called for his Boswell to confirm what he was seeing, but Holmes vaguely recalled Watson telling him a quarter of an hour ago that he was going to see a house-bound patient. And, provided Holmes wasn’t going insane, Mrs. Hudson would be safest in her kitchen. Perhaps doubly so if Holmes were hallucinating. 

“You’ll forgive me for not offering you a drink, but I’m not entirely sure you’re real.” Holmes could hear the slight quaver in his voice, but he couldn’t bring himself to be ashamed. 

The man whom he had seen crash against the rocks below Reichenbach Falls years ago gave a twitch of his lips. Almost the beginning of a smile, perhaps? Or maybe a grimace? “I assure you I’m as real as you are, Mr. Holmes, but then if I were a hallucination, would I say anything different?” 

“I’m not sure. I have to confess that I don’t have much experience with hallucinations.” 

Moriarty, or the man that looked like the Professor, walked around the edge of the room, examining the miscellaneous clutter with an almost fond air. “You haven’t cleaned up much since last I was here, despite the fact that you and the good doctor are living together again.” 

“I confess that I find familiar surroundings comforting. If you are real, I find it odd that you haven’t aged a day.” 

Holmes searched for a scar, some grey hair, or a new wrinkle on the face that was so familiar to him. If anything, the man looked younger. Stronger. This made a hallucination the more likely explanation, and yet Holmes had not partaken of any mind-altering substances in over a month. A disguise or an imposter was the next likely scenario, but...but...Holmes had _known_ Moriarty. The man’s face, his way of moving, his mannerisms were as familiar to Holmes as London itself, and even as his mind screamed that this was impossible, that intuition which poets and Watson would call the heart had already accepted this figure as Moriarty. 

The Professor stopped circling the room. “I could offer a long list of facts to prove to you that I am who I appear to be. However, your doctor has ensured that many of these facts are public knowledge. The others...well, I suppose you could always reason that your addled brain supplied them. Anyway, I’m not here to convince you of my survival or for business reasons. I confess that I have a larger than usual amount of spare time today, but I would rather use it to discuss what I planned to say...” He walked towards an empty chair and hesitated. “May I sit down?" 

“Certainly, Professor.” 

Moriarty inclined his head in acknowledgment and dropped into the seat. Holmes took the opportunity to remove his revolver from his desk, load it, and drop into the chair opposite his guest. 

“You’ll forgive the precaution?” Holmes asked, cocking the gun and leveling it at his visitor. 

“My dear Mr. Holmes, after such a long time away from London, it is _comforting_ to see that you have not changed so very much.” 

“Very well. Now, may I inquire as to how you survived the Reichenbach Falls? I did see you fall in, and I am absolutely certain it was you.” 

“You may. An explanation or even a reunion is not the main purpose of my visit today, but I came prepared to share that strange tale, for I know that doing so is possibly the only way to convince you to heed my warning.” 

“A warning?” Holmes chuckled. “I would have thought you’d have learned from your last one that I’m not so easily intimidated.” 

“The warning is not of me. Rest assured that you and I will have our chance to battle again. But you are currently working on a case...” Moriarty shook his head, “well, we will get to that later. You asked how I survived. As you mentioned, I _did_ fall into that terrible chasm. I don’t know why I didn’t die upon impact when I fell into the falls.” Moriarty began, letting his gaze drift from Holmes to a place on the carpet, a distant look in them, as if he were merely thinking aloud instead of recounting a tale. “God knows there were more than enough rocks to do what the fall itself didn’t. But that is inconsequential. When I awoke in a cavern behind the falls, I was not far from death. The pain, Mr. Holmes,” the Professor met Holmes’s gaze for a moment with an accusatory glare, “was excruciating, although it was made all the worse by the fact that certain areas of my body were entirely numb. I shall never forget that.” He paused, and then looked away again. “Although really, I suppose if you hadn’t...” He shook his head. “Well, I couldn’t think clearly or logically. I didn’t remember in that moment how I had gotten there. I doubt I could even have given my name then, if pressed, but I knew that I was dying.” 

“But it seemed to me...” Moriarty’s brow furrowed, as if what he was about to say still confused him, ”that someone was leaning over me. At first I thought it was a doctor, but as he leaned closer...I don’t know what it was about the face...the eyes, I suppose...but something disturbed me. And then he bent closer...a good deal closer than any doctor would, until his face was nestled into my neck. There was a sharp pain where the stranger was. I didn’t know that he had bitten me. I didn’t know what he had done. I just knew that I was dying, and this person was making my last moments worse. I couldn’t push him away, so I turned my head, and I bit him. It was a strange action I’ll admit now. But then it had seemed only too logical. What else could I do to cause him pain?” 

“You know,” the Professor looked up again and this time didn’t look away. There was something...hungry about his gaze that made Holmes want to back away, to call the Yard. It was different than any of the looks that they had exchanged before. Those had been full of anger and respect. The eagerness that came from meeting an equal and the hatred that came from realizing that that equal could never be trusted. This was something different. A desire, but not for anything a typical human would thirst for, made all the more alarming because Holmes couldn’t decipher it. “I can still taste the blood sometimes. There was something strange about it. Not the familiar coppery taste that you get when you accidently bite your tongue. There was that, but it was stronger and somehow...delicious. Well, I drank, and the stranger didn’t pull away. I expected it to end like that. For me to drift into oblivion. But then the pain got worse, and the areas of my body which had been numb suddenly felt like they were on fire...I won’t describe everything that followed, but it was far from pleasant.” 

“Finally, after days that seemed to never end, I was conscious. I could think again. The pain was gone, and I felt better than I could ever remember feeling. Stronger. More...alive.” A look of genuine wonder came over Moriarty’s face, the expression seeming out of place on a man who only ever showed others the emotions that he wanted them to see. “And my senses! I could hear things over the roar of the falls...tiny animals scurrying outside, the heartbeats of humans peering over the falls. And yet I was hungry...I had a terrible hunger unlike any I’d ever experienced. Logic told me that I should be dead and that, if I wasn’t, I needed help. But my body begged to differ. And so I left the cavern. And I came across some man. He may have been an inspector or a simple farmer. I scarcely knew what I was doing. I acted on instinct, latching onto his neck and drinking my first meal in that new form, and if I had felt strong before, it was nothing compared to how I felt after that first meal. The fact that it was the blood of another human being didn’t repulse me the way it would have mere days ago. It was, after all, what I knew I needed. Why should I hesitate to drink it? After that, I sought out the creature that had attacked me as I lay dying. I learned what I could from him. He was a willing enough teacher, not adverse to companionship. He had been alone very long. After I was absolutely certain that I could learn nothing more from him, I believe I killed him. I’m afraid I’m not quite certain as to that point; it is somewhat uncertain whether anything can truly kill a vampire, but I believe I did as good a job as anyone could. I stayed away from London for a while. You see, I wasn’t completely in control of this new thirst, and I wanted to be able to walk through the streets of London undetected, without giving myself away with uncontrolled outbursts. I taught myself restraint, and now I have returned.” 

The Professor leaned forward in his seat, resting his forearms on his knees, hands clasped. He regarded Holmes keenly, and Holmes returned his gaze. Holmes considered the evidence of the story that he had just heard. The tale was incredible, and the most incredible part of it was that it was told with utter conviction. If Moriarty was lying, there were no signs of deceit. This in itself wasn’t overly surprising. Among other things, the Professor was an excellent liar. But what a thing to lie about! He had to know that Holmes would doubt his tale. If Moriarty had some hidden agenda, why not come up with a more plausible story? No, a lie was unlikely. 

That left two options: Moriarty was mad, or he was telling the truth. The first option was nearly as horrific as the latter. That a man of Moriarty’s intellect should be brought so low...should become so deluded...that a man that Holmes had sometimes considered a dark reflection of himself should lose all reason was heartbreaking. But there was no sign of injury that would signify a head injury, and there should have been. No human being could escape unscathed from that chasm. And he hadn’t aged a day... 

“You’ll forgive me, Professor. I admit that I’m not entirely sure that this encounter is real. However, if it is, I still have some difficulty-” 

“You require some proof, Mr. Holmes.” The Professor supplied nonchalantly. “I expected nothing less. I myself would ask for as much. I confess that I’ve been anticipating the opportunity to demonstrate.” 

And then, there was a blur. Holmes fired his revolver at the place that Moriarty should have been, but the man was already on him. A hand grasped the Detective’s hair, tilting his head backward and exposing his throat. Holmes could feel his mouth drop open, his eyes impossibly wide as he gazed into a face that couldn’t possibly be created by any mask or cosmetics. 

The Professor’s eyes were pitch black, reminding Holmes of a shark. Only a shark’s eyes were emotionless, whereas Moriarty’s managed to convey a sense of amusement. The mouth had opened, and far from two discreet, pointed canine teeth, a whole row of fangs had descended from the gums. Moriarty stilled, then, as if waiting for something, and finally Holmes found the strength to bring the gun around, press it to Moriarty’s chess, and fire. 

The gun went off, and when Moriarty reached down to take it from Holmes’s hand, Holmes could see the hole where the bullet had entered the Professor’s body. 

“I believe,” Moriarty said, in a sardonic tone, “that this is proof enough. However, you’ll forgive one more.” 

And then that mouth...that horrible mouth!...slowly lowered to Holmes’s throat. There was a sharp pain, and Holmes cried out. He struggled to push the Professor away. The pain was only part of the cause of the revulsion he felt. The idea of being used as food, as nourishment for such a creature, his greatest enemy... and then a curious lethargy overtook him. His muscles began to relax, and the hand gripping his hair moved to cup the back of his head gently. He sagged back in his chair, eyes fluttering closed. 

There was a weight on his lap and a chest pressed against his own. Moriarty’s other arm came to wrap around Holmes’s shoulder, pulling his prey closer. Holmes still knew mentally that he should be fighting. That he should be struggling to get away, but his body simply didn’t want to move. It was similar to the feeling one gets after overeating at Christmas dinner. His muscles felt pleasantly heavy and utterly useless. The painful sensation had dulled, and Holmes felt content to just lie there in Moriarty’s arms and let the vampire take his fill. 

What did it matter, Holmes thought, if he died? He’d live on in the veins of this creature. And the end wouldn’t be anywhere near as bad as some. This wasn’t so bad. It was even pleasurable in a way. All he had to do was relax... 

Holmes didn’t know how much time passed, but eventually he could feel another sting of pain as the fangs withdrew. Moriarty didn’t rise though, instead lifting his head so that his mouth was next to Holmes’s ear. 

“Can you hear me, Mr. Holmes?” 

The detective managed a small groan. 

“Good. You’ll recover soon enough. You’ll rest here a bit after I leave, but in no more than a half an hour I think you’ll be strong enough to make it to your feet. I want you to know that I could easily kill you, Mr. Holmes. I could drain every last drop from your body and leave you here for your doctor and landlady to find. There would be a sort of poetic justice in your last drops of blood, which you’ve spilled countless times in your struggles against me, nourishing me and providing me with the strength to rule my empire. But I won’t. For your death to have meaning it cannot occur through mere brute strength. One day I _will_ kill you. I will outmaneuver you first in an intellectual struggle, destroying everything you’ve ever loved. And once you are beaten and unable to recover _then_ I will kill your body as well. But rest assured that it will be a fitting end for one such as yourself.” 

Now Moriarty pulled back so that he could look Holmes in the face. He released his grip on the back of his victim’s head and brought his hand around to cup the detective’s chin, turning Holmes’s gaze on him. 

“This is a courtesy call, Mr. Holmes. You and I have a long history together. You’re the only man in London, nay the world, that I would consider my equal. It’s out of respect for your intellect and, I’ll admit, a rather childish possessiveness that I’ve come to give you a warning. After so much has passed between us, the idea that someone else should kill you is intolerable to me. You are working on a case. People have been going missing. Some are never seen again. Others turn up dead, drained of blood. It isn’t me, but I know who it is. The man that you are looking for is not to be trifled with. You must drop this case. I promise you that the man you are searching for will not show you the same courtesies that I have. If it were merely a battle of intellects, you would win, but physical strength matters, too, and you’ve seen what my kind can do. He will take you and break you using the crudest methods. You will become his toy, and then when there is nothing of you left in your mind, he will kill you. Your interference will not save anyone. Leave him to me. It will take longer than you would like, but I assure you that I will bring him to...a different type of justice than the one you would prefer, but justice none the less. Please take heed, Mr. Holmes. I cannot be responsible for what happens if you do not.” 

Holmes lay there in a daze, shock keeping him paralyzed long after his strength had returned. When Watson returned an hour later, telling him something about a patient’s agoraphobia, he took Holmes’s lethargy as one of his usual states of despondency, and accepted the few monosyllabic replies as conversation. Later, though, after Holmes’s mind had processed what had occurred, he glanced at the clock and pulled on his boots. Eclectic though his library was, it was rather lacking in information about vampires. 


End file.
